


A Beginner’s Guide to Cosplay and Compromise

by Yellow_Bird_On_Richland



Series: It's different and it's working, oh, you make me nervous (the Annie/Britta AU Collection) [3]
Category: Community (TV)
Genre: Bisexual Britta Perry, Established Annie/Britta Relationship, F/F, Halloween, Harley Quinn!Britta Perry, M/M, Masturbation, Oral Sex, Platonic Trobedison, Poison Ivy!Annie Edison, Porn With More Plot, Porn with Feelings, Smut, lesbian Annie Edison
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-29
Updated: 2020-07-29
Packaged: 2021-03-05 23:40:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,441
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25583749
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Yellow_Bird_On_Richland/pseuds/Yellow_Bird_On_Richland
Summary: As a (sort of) adult, you’ve been more than happy to follow your childhood Halloween tradition of getting a store-bought costume every year for Greendale’s chaotic parties.You should’ve known Annie would have other plans.
Relationships: Annie Edison/Britta Perry, Troy Barnes/Abed Nadir
Series: It's different and it's working, oh, you make me nervous (the Annie/Britta AU Collection) [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1835497
Comments: 4
Kudos: 39





	A Beginner’s Guide to Cosplay and Compromise

**Author's Note:**

> This Halloween fic could be set in Season 4, but the details aren’t too important. AU-ish with established Annie/Britta and Trobed relationships. The OG three-roommate apartment 303 stays together forever. Written in 2nd person from Britta’s perspective.

You should've known something like this was going to happen. After all, Annie, Troy, and Abed were spending practically the entire day together, just a couple of weeks ahead of Halloween.

You've been floundering in a sea of psych papers recently, though, and your internship's kept you a mite too busy to devote your full attention to both the papers and your friends' collective mischief. Although you'll readily admit that Annie is an absolute gem when it comes to creating flash cards, quizzing you, and even reviewing your essays once in a while. Seriously, bless her for that, because your initial drafts can be messy. However, the two of you sometimes get distracted with each other when you try to get work done at either of your apartments, outside the confines of the decidedly PG study room and various other spots on campus. And it's not her fault that you still procrastinate, on occasion, though you've gotten a lot better at establishing and following your homework and study schedules.

So you'd decided to hunker down in the library for most of the day to power through your work in a quiet environment. For whatever reason, Greendale gives everyone the Friday before Indigenous Peoples' Day off, too ("Fuck you, Christopher Columbus, you genocidal dick. You don't deserve a holiday," you whisper fiercely to yourself). After completing a bit of her own work by mid-morning—it's mildly disgusting, really, how Annie conjures up the motivation to _get ahead_ on a bonus holiday from school—your girlfriend had left you with a thermos of coffee, a whispered "Good luck, Britta," the newest study mix the two of you had burned last week, and a long, lingering kiss that suggested she's probably fantasized about having library sex with you.

That had been around 11:00, and it's now a few minutes after 4:00. Annie had sent you a couple of check-in texts earlier in the afternoon, but for the most part, she's left you alone to make some serious headway on your projects, per your request. The radio silence also isn't surprising because she's spent most of the day with the boys in a combo Inspector Spacetime/video game/Dreamatorium party. Partially, you suspect, to take advantage of the extra day off and celebrate the four day weekend, and partially because the three roommates are all in what you've affectionately termed a "platonic love triangle," and those are some of their favorite activities.

You take a break from editing your concluding paragraph and frown. _"Is it still platonic if Abed and Troy are dating?"_ you ask yourself, though they'd probably been together for at least a couple of months before they'd officially announced their relationship to the group, based on your and Annie's best estimates. You try to bring your focus back to revising your paper when you get another text from her.

_Hey, babe. Hope your work is going well! We wanted to know: do you wanna get pizza for our group dinner and stay in, or go out to the Red Door later? 100% your decision. We all agreed you should get to pick._

Normally, you'd say go out because the Red Door is your shit, but you should probably do more work tomorrow, which will be worlds easier without a possible hangover, and the thought of relaxing with your girlfriend and her two nerds tonight sounds streets ahead.

"Dammit, Pierce," you mutter—somehow, that phrase has wormed its way back into your lexicon—but you still chuckle as you reply, _Yes to pizza and staying in, please! I'm planning to leave here by 5 or so, and then I'll swing back home to grab my overnight bag. Do I still have pajamas at your place? Cause I'd definitely rather sleep over with you, I can already tell I'm gonna be tired out later._

Your phone chimes another couple of minutes later. As Annie tends to do, she responds to multiple text message questions in list format.

_1\. Great! We'll put in our usual order for the four of us a little later on, probably around when you leave campus._

_2\. Yeah, you've got PJs here. I threw them in with my laundry last week, so they're clean._

You're in the middle of texting back, _You're the best, Annie_ , when you get another message from her.

_Oh, and 3. We brainstormed some ideas for Halloween costumes for the two of us to wear to the Greendale party in a couple weeks :)_

Yeah, you really should have expected that to happen.

**

You double-check that all your work is saved on your laptop, on your flash drive, and in Google Docs before you leave the library. After stopping off at your place to grab a change of clothes for tomorrow and some of your basic beauty supplies, you arrive at apartment 303 to find Annie, Abed, and Troy decked out in surprisingly formal garb, with all three of them wearing a combination of blazers, dress shirts, and dress pants. Though you never know exactly how they "manifest different realities" in the Dreamatorium, as Abed had once intoned, you're glad that they usually seem to enjoy themselves.

"Replaying an episode of Mad Men?" you ask.

"Nope, we went for a mission from Get Smart. Good guess, though," Abed responds. "Annie helped me save my shoe phone."

Troy shakes his head ruefully, loosens his tie, and easily loops his arm around Abed's waist as they retreat to their blanket fort bedroom to change. "You gotta stop trying to put the fake cigarettes out with it, buddy."

You give a bemused smile at the two of them, and Annie shares your affectionate glance; the two of them work well as a couple, even if Annie does have to cajole them into keeping the household functioning, once in a while.

"Hey, you," she grins as she leads you into a soft kiss, catches your hands, and pulls you into her bedroom—which, thankfully, has an actual door, rather than blankets. She's got her hair up in a messy ponytail, with a few stray curls framing her face. There's still a tinge of pink in her cheeks, and her eyes glimmer and dance the way they almost always do after a fun, carefree Dreamatorium session.

You whisper, "Hey, you," back as your hands automatically move to undo the buttons on her shirt. Annie's rewarding your progress with lush kisses, leading you to wonder if you'll have time for a quickie when Troy and Abed call, "Pizza's here!" from by the front door.

"Be there in a sec, I'm just gonna finish getting changed!" Annie answers as she swats your grabby hands away. You give a frustrated groan, but your stomach grumbles at nearly the same time, and she laughs at that. You used to scoff at the idea that hearing a specific someone's voice could make you feel better, believing that it was a crock of garbage, but Annie's proven you wrong there. And in a handful of other ways, too.

You've always assumed relationships come pre-stamped with expiration dates, either from burning out like a firework or fizzling to a slow, dull death, but you and Annie have been together for close to a year now and you have absolutely no reason to stop wanting her. You've even generally accepted that she hasn't been hoodwinked, bamboozled, or otherwise led astray into dating you for a bit over ten months.

" _It's possible you're the one that's been duped,"_ you dryly comment to yourself as the other three describe their wild adventures in preventing a KAOS agent from taking over a theme park in a small town and overinflating the gate and ride prices while you're all enjoying dinner. _"Because you're willingly dating a massive nerd."_

But, duh-doy, you love Annie Edison, so that's no problem at all. Even if, after you're all sated from pizza, breadsticks, and pop, she claps her hands together and says brightly, "Okay, Britta, so we all came up with a few different costume ideas throughout the day for us to choose from."

You've gotta get out in front of this to have any shot at a non-mortifying outfit. "Veto on being any characters from Inspector Spacetime or Cougar Town," you declare.

Abed gives a small, irritated huff and Annie shoots him a look before continuing, "I figured you'd say that. Thoughts on Daphne and Velma?"

"So I'm either the damsel in distress or the unattractive nerd?" you answer. "Pass."

"Alright, how about Pam Beesly and Karen Filippeli?" she suggests. "Karen's an obscure enough Office character that you could retain your hipster cred without being a snob."

You give a noncommittal shrug and feel a tad guilty for frustrating your girlfriend like this. On the other hand, her competitive side is kicking in a little bit—Annie has _a thing_ for overcoming challenges and obstacles, and her words pick up speed and intensity when she's not getting her way—and it's kinda hot, so, yeah, there's that.

"Then…maybe Harley Quinn and Poison Ivy?" she asks hopefully.

You frown. "And have one of us be the Joker's play-thing? Gross. And totally misogynistic," you add for good measure, feeling satisfied with your rebuttal. But Annie's smirking at you like she does when the two of you play chess and you confidently swipe one of her bishops, only to lose one of your rooks on her next turn because you traipsed right into a crafty gambit.

Shit.

"Not strictly true," Abed responds, and Troy follows up, unhelpfully, "There's actually a few rare comics where Harley kills the Joker, so she and the rest of Gotham are freed from his cycle of abuse, manipulation, and physical harm."

"Plus we could _totally_ bypass the male gaze by creating costumes that are flattering and attractive _to us_ , but not so revealing that they provoke unwanted interest from sleazeballs," Annie notes, and dammit, she _knows_ talking feminist theory makes you go weak for her. Or, well, weaker than normal, if you're being honest with yourself. It's a new thing you're trying (and it's been a novel, rewarding, and frightening experience to date).

"Not to mention, your Harley costume would be fairly inexpensive, Britta," Annie adds innocently, as if she's only just thought of this point. "You've already got the ripped jeans, pleather jacket, and a baseball bat. You'd probably only need to tie-dye a shirt black and red to wear under your jacket and maybe put your hair in double pigtails to complete the look. I think people would know who your character is even if you didn't want to wear a wig or dye your hair blue and pink."

"You're good, Annie," you compliment her, and she grins, ear to ear. "Very good." But part of you still wants to just get an easy costume from Party City, like a couple of years ago when you dressed up as a dinosaur, and your inner rebel demands that you put your foot down and prove you're not totally whipped. "Be that as it may…I still don't want to be Harley Quinn for Halloween."

**

You end up being Harley Quinn for Halloween.

You could have most likely gotten a simpler outfit for less money, but (you'll never tell Annie this) you actually had fun painting red and black diamonds on your top, with some assistance from Troy and Abed, after all of you had hit up Target and JoAnn Fabrics for your costume needs. And as you apply your finishing cosmetic touches while you're getting ready for the party, you think you might get the appeal that Annie and the boys see in playing pretend, in being half themselves and half not from time to time.

Your makeup pops in screaming, garish color, with cotton candy-esque pink and blue eye shadow complemented by firecracker red lipstick—much louder and bolder than your standard choices, of course. But everything's been done on your terms, designed by your hand, for the pleasure of one Annie Edison and no one else, and there's something empowering in that.

You feel like you might need one or two more tiny additions to get your look totally set, so you run a quick Google search of Harley Quinn costumes. Your outfit and makeup seem close enough to most examples, and you think, _"I'm seriously trying to look this stuff up right now?"_

After a second, though, you spot what you're missing—in a few pictures, Harley has "rotten" or "puddin's monster" or "Mr. J's girl" written on her face in small letters in makeup pencil.

"Ew, fuck that,"you grimace. You're going to leave everything as is when inspiration bops you on the head, and you try on a wicked, teasing grin for size in the mirror as you retrieve your makeup pencil. You etch "don't look" on your left cheek, a smidge above your jaw, and "don't touch" on the right—both written in small caps—before giving a satisfied nod to your reflection. Your Harley Quinn's got some feminist sensibilities, and she's not afraid to wear them proudly.

" _Am I really identifying with a comic book character? Have I become this much of a dork in the span of three-odd years?"_ you ask yourself.

The answer to both questions is a resounding yes, and you find you're pretty much fine with that these days. Your street cred never got you much more than a night's worth of free drinks and mostly average sex, anyway.

You retrieve your baseball bat—okay, it may technically belong to Greendale or to one of the baseball team's players, but no one _has_ to know that—and your overnight bag before setting off for apartment 303. As usual, the back door to the building is propped open, but you're careful to knock when you actually get outside Annie, Troy, and Abed's place. Though the door's most likely unlocked, you'd rather not accidentally get an eyeful of one of the boys in case they're still getting into their costumes. When Troy opens the door with a grin and a, "Hey, Britta," you're relieved to see that he and Abed are both almost ready to go. Abed, of course, is dressing up as Inspector Spacetime, while Troy's going to the party as the Inspector's faithful sidekick, Constable Reggie.

"Looking good," Troy calls in your direction as he heads back toward his and Abed's shared, makeshift closet to grab his jacket.

"Thanks," you smile. "Though I feel a little out of place with…" you gesture at your rag-tag getup compared to their semi-formal costumes.

"You shouldn't," he responds. "Definitely getting strong Harley Quinn vibes from you. Just don't put bombs in pies and we'll all be cool. Annie's gonna love it." He examines a few of the hangers in the closet. "Hey, Abed, have you seen my black tie?"

"I think you left it in the Dreamatorium earlier this week," Abed replies, now coming out, as well, his outfit almost complete except for his top hat and long coat. "If my hat is in there, can you grab it, Troy?"

"Sure thing, man." He starts walking that way, but stops suddenly. "Just a second…" he steps back toward Abed and fiddles a tiny bit with one side of his collar to flatten it down. "There you go," he murmurs in approval, clapping Abed on the shoulder and giving him the kind of sweet look you know you've shared with Annie plenty of times.

"Thanks," Abed nods, as if the affectionate gestures are no big deal, but he's wearing a smile that's maybe 5% bigger and brighter than his usual small, shy one. He possibly notices you noticing him, as he says, "Your outfit's really well done, Britta. Seems in the spirit of what you wanted without straying too far from original source material."

That's probably the closest you'll come to getting a regular compliment from Abed, so you grin and reply, "I can't take full credit, since you and Troy helped a lot with it. But I appreciate that, especially coming from you, Abed." You shoot a single finger gun at him before walking over to Annie's room. You knock, rather than going right in. You've learned from past experience that she zones out a little while applying makeup and is prone to let one of her high-pitched screams rip if you interrupt unexpectedly.

"That you, Britta?" Annie calls.

You're about to answer, "Yeah, of course it's me," when you hear Abed and Troy quoting Inspector Spacetime in the living room, and you decide, while you're here, you may as well fully embrace being a geek. So instead, you put on your best sing-song voice and answer, "Poison Ivyyy…someone's here to play with youuu."

You can hear the sultry smile in Annie's voice when she replies in kind, "Come on in, Harley Quinn," and you revel in the small, delighted gasp she gives when she sees you in the reflection of her mirror. "You look _devastating_ , darling," she murmurs, and you don't give a shit if Annie's playing a character or not when she adds that mesmerizing tone to her voice, the one that makes words drip from her mouth like honey.

"I take it you finally rid yourself of that horrible Joker? He never did recognize all your marvelous potential for chaos," she goes on as she draws a tiny swirl of a green tendril along the side of her face, just by her ear.

This is a new dance, a foreign language, for you, and you're not sure how exactly to play Harley Quinn, or how long you'll need to do it, but you figure, _"Being a shameless flirt isn't a bad starting place."_ So you amble over to Annie slowly—you consider giving the bat a little flip, but decide against it, since you'll probably just drop it on your foot, or worse—and respond, "Yeah, I'm done with clowns. I need substance in my life. Something, or some _one_ , I can really sink my teeth into." You rest your chin on top of her head as she applies blood red lipstick that pops with almost impossible vivacity against her alabaster skin, and she matches your flirting with her own.

"Some _one_ , you said? Then, the 'don't look, don't touch' I see written on your face…does that go for everyone tonight? Or can I be an exception?" Annie asks coquettishly.

You cup her cheeks with your hands and grin as you press a volley of kisses into the top of her head. "You're my exception to everything, Annie," you assure her.

She smiles up at you, blinking softly as she answers, "That's how I like it." Her eye shadow reveals itself as a galaxy of green and silver—Slytherin colors—and that's the first true bit of Annie you spot within her character, in her ambitious costume development. After another couple of careful artistic tweaks to her makeup, she glances up at you in the mirror. "Does this look good?" she asks for confirmation.

"You look fantastic, babe," you respond, and she glows at the compliment. "Now, c'mon, show off your full costume, since you've already gotten to see mine."

She gives a slightly embarrassed grin. "Ok, please just step back a little so I have space to get up."

You do, and she gets out of her chair. She's got a slightly oversized white lab coat wrapped around her shoulders, but she shrugs it off and suddenly you develop a zealous interest in the values of cosplay. Annie has, in your totally unbiased estimation, perfectly executed the oft-challenging "sophisticated with a hint of slutty" Halloween costume. She's wearing a short, dark emerald corset dress that flares out at the waist and has lacy sleeves that look as if they're almost disintegrating like dead leaves, perfect for a night out as Poison Ivy. The top of the dress also, thankfully, tampers down Annie's boobs a little, though they can never be completely tamed (for which you are eternally grateful). And that's to say nothing of how the dress seems to lengthen her legs—or maybe that's the green tights she's wearing—or the on-brand accessories Annie's added to her ensemble, like a leaf belt that wraps around her slim waist, the red nail polish that matches her lipstick, and the forearm gloves with criss-crossed poison ivy patterns.

She's got that knowing smirk on her face, and you don't let her get done with asking, "So what do you th—" because you want to drill it into her skull that she doesn't ever need to fish for compliments with you. So you dive into her kiss like you need it to breathe. Like you did after the third official date you two went on, watching Toy Story 3 at the Riviera, that historically preserved theater downtown that puts on random movie showings, when you'd purposely skipped tracks on your one mix CD to get to "Hands Down" as you were dropping her off and Annie's kisses tasted like buttered popcorn and Thin Mints.

You can't resist from whispering throatily, "That answer your question, sweetheart?" as you pull away.

She nods and somehow finds the audacity to tell you, "You know, it's your fault my lipstick's a total mess now."

"Well, Poison Ivy's an eco-terrorist," you point out. "I'm sure she's roughing it in forests or jungles here and there, so she can't keep her makeup totally pristine all the time. Anyway," you glance in the mirror, "now I look more like the conductor of the hot mess express, which fits Harley."

You each simultaneously mime pulling on a train horn and bust out laughing when Abed and Troy knock at Annie's door. "Two minute warning before we're leaving," Troy calls.

"Don't forget any costume accessories," Abed adds before asking, "Since we always give each other three extra minutes, shouldn't it be a five minute warning?"

You and Annie dissolve into giggles again as Troy groans at Abed's happy ignorance of football references.

"Just gotta get my lab coat," Annie says as she grabs it off the back of her chair. "Now, off we go." She grins up at you and offers her arm. "Milady?"

You give a dignified nod and a genteel, "Milady," before hooking your right arm through Annie's left in a gesture that feels utterly incongruous with who you're being for Halloween. You let out another snort of laughter as you get to the living room, where Troy's adjusting his jacket and Abed is putting on his hat. They don't say anything about the obvious after-effects of your makeout session, and neither you nor Annie feel a need to comment when Abed holds the door open for everyone as you all leave, but only ushers Troy out with a gentle touch of his slim fingers at the small of his back.

" _In a society that's still really weird and ignorant about human sexuality, it's a relief to not worry about it here, with any of them,"_ you think as Troy backs his Honda Civic out of the driveway. There's no thought about censoring yourselves—not that you and Annie or Troy and Abed are ever, like, full-on necking in front of each other, but if Annie curls up against you during a late movie night, or Abed absentmindedly strokes Troy's hair for a while, no one really notices. You can just _be_ , and it's incredibly relaxing. You remember what Abed had said when you came out to him as bi: "I care, and it matters, but it also doesn't, in a way, because why would I treat you any differently?" You'd been prepared to bite his head off before Annie calmed you down and explained he meant it out of affection and acceptance. Good virtues, of course…just not articulated in a way one might expect. It kind of explained Abed in a nutshell.

Any further deep thoughts about human sexuality are interrupted when Troy finds one of the radio stations that's playing Halloween music. He and Abed start singing along to The Monster Mash, and then Annie, of course, joins in, too, so you roll your eyes good-naturedly— _"as if you have any semblance of cool left,"_ you tease yourself—and jump in on the backing vocals with her as she interlocks her fingers with yours. And even though it's not what you ever expected, you know that, yes, this is love.

**

For reasons unbeknownst to the entire student population at the party, Dean Pelton has gone ahead and catered "make your own taco" bars—again. Though this time there's Chipotle branding everywhere and he insists none of the meat is from the army surplus store. "You all act as if something awful happened at last year's party," he laughs as he sets his Barnacle Boy hat at a jaunty angle on his head. "But I don't really remember anything too crazy, even by Greendale's standards."

"That's the whole problem, _none of us_ remember anything," Jeff grouses, but he's just playing to his usual role as the Dean's antagonist. He's decked out in a Zorro costume, and you kind of wish you had Abed's gift for unselfconsciously asking invasive questions because it looks suspiciously similar to what the Black Rider was wearing during the last paintball game, with the only minor differences being Jeff's black shirt and mask.

"Thank the good Lord above that I don't remember that night," Shirley mutters under her breath; you think she might be dressed up as Jessie from Toy Story, but you're going to delay guessing for as long as possible because you're bound to be incorrect.

A few other students pester Dean Pelton into actually calling the nearest Chipotle and putting the call on speakerphone to confirm they'd made a delivery run to Greendale, and they had, so you let go of your worries that you might need to be prepared for…something…and get yourself a cup of apple pie punch to split with Annie. You don't want to risk drinking much more than that at once. The ominous stench of paint thinner is warning enough that whoever added the moonshine did so a leaden pour hand.

" _You do know you've got Troy DD'ing, right? So you can totally party hard if you want,"_ your inner wild child argues.

" _Eh, why should I?"_ you answer. A few years ago, you would have eagerly replied to that question with a rallying cry of, "Free booze!" Ever since you turned 30, though, it feels like your liver's started to age in dog years on every birthday, and you don't see much, if any, point in getting hammered since hangovers have turned utterly debilitating. You've drastically cut down your excess spending on alcohol and weed ever since you started dating Annie, and that's not a coincidence. She offers a different buzz, one constructed on shared books and vinyl records, treks through the mall and surprise day trips. She gets you especially intoxicated when she gets a little dolled up, like she is tonight, in a way. Despite Greendale's tuition being worlds lower than a more traditional four-year college, neither of you can really afford to splurge on fancy outfits or big nights out that much.

Starburns interrupts your punch retrieval and your musings on your girlfriend to rave about your costume, followed by Magnitude—dressed up as a can of Pepsi—coming through with a classic "POP, POP!" You applaud and cheer along with everyone else in the vicinity and start making your way back to the group when you hear a familiar guitar intro, followed by an excited shout from Annie. "Britta! Where are you?"

"Not this again," Jeff sighs.

Ever the picture of maturity, you roll your eyes and stick out your tongue at him. "Shove it, Zorro." You playfully hip bump him aside and yell "Roxanne!" loud, proud, and horribly off-key to announce your presence, a call back to Troy and Abed's housewarming party. Except you're not having to hide any type of high this time and you're free to kiss Annie now rather than stare wistfully at her and daydream about doing it.

She's entered into some kind of dance triangle, with Troy situated between her and Abed, and Shirley wheedles Jeff into joining all of you with one of her caring mom looks. You boogey with the two of them for a minute before Annie calls, "Hey, Harley!" over the din. She gracefully detaches herself from the dance triangle with the boys and aims an imaginary fishing rod your way, then mimes reeling you in. You go along with it, dancing your way towards her with the jerky motions of a snagged fish as she fixes you with a come hither stare and crooks her finger at you.

"Hey, Ivy?"

She responds with one of those quick, quirky smiles that only appears when you unexpectedly let your inner kid out to play with hers.

"Yeah?"

"You're such a fuckin nerd," you murmur affectionately, swooping in for a quick kiss before the two of you half-sing, half-shout "Put on the red light!" into each other's faces, Annie's reddening with laughter. You twirl her and then stop her on a dime with one hand on her waist and the other on her back. Even with her playing the role of someone else for the night, you get lost in her eyes, and yes, this is love.

**

This being Greendale, though, the good moment doesn't linger too long afterwards, as some douche-nozzle in a Joker costume approaches you by the punch bowl when you go back for seconds. You're not sure what's worse, the obvious interest in you or the putrid stink of the four dollar cologne he's got on.

"Have you been hiding from me all night, Harley?" he asks. "You don't want to risk making me angry."

" _Ok, the sexual interest is worse. Definitely worse,"_ you think. You normally would just avoid engaging, but you might be able to have fun with this loser in this particular setting.

So you give a little faux-laugh and bat your eyelashes and answer, pulling one of your blonde curls down like a spring, "You know, you remind me of this really cute guy who flirted with me just like that last week. You wanna know what I did for him?"

He grins. "What's that?"

You crumple up your own smile in a heartbeat and snap, "I gave him free dental surgery with my Louisville Slugger. Now, fuck off."

You catch a glimpse of Annie's reflection in the big library windows (seriously, what is with this school and hosting nearly all events here, rather than the gym?). Her jaw is jutted out and her gaze burns so hot that it looks as if it could crack the pane of glass. You might have to call it an early night because her lust for you looks damn near feral. Not that you mind at all.

Then, as if you're in a video game, another challenger approaches. This one—some other loser in an Incredible Hulk costume—strides past you, towards Annie, and asks aggressively, "Hey, Poison Ivy, can I get a taste of your nectar?" You like to think that you're not violent outside of the occasional protest-turned-riot (and the time you threatened to murder Annie over her missing purple pen during that disastrous bottle episode), but your vision flashes red and you're by her side instantly. Annie puts a warning hand on your right arm because you're squeezing your prop baseball bat a little too tightly for comfort.

"I've got this," she murmurs to you, pushing you ever so slightly behind her as she approaches the guy with her own best fake smile plastered on her face and replies warmly, "Oh, it's so generous of you to ask! I've been looking for a taste tester for my fast-acting poisons." His face drops faster than a cartoon anvil and you walk up to both of them now, slinging a possessive arm around Annie's waist and pulling her close to you before offering the sad sap a shit-eating grin, like, _"See why you shouldn't mess with my girlfriend, moron?"_

Annie isn't done yet, either. "And don't worry. After you die, I'll be sure to bury you in one of my unmarked plots of land so you give off nutrients as you decompose and help more of my flowers grow," she adds sweetly with a saccharine grin and a flash of her "crazy Annie" eyes, and the Incredible Hulk is now literally running away.

You think to yourself, not for the first time, that Annie Edison might be the tiniest bit insane—you flash back and remember that horror story she'd weaved last Halloween. But the way she just channeled Poison Ivy's confidence and general disdain for men into annihilating a pathetic flirting attempt from an even more pathetic dude has made you unspeakably horny. You need to get some distance from her for a few minutes. Because otherwise your dance moves, which had already tipped into PG-13 territory once or twice thanks to the influence of the pumpkin punch, will turn R-rated in a hurry.

" _So then, you'd better hurry up and find a way to convince Abed and Troy that calling it an early-ish night is much more preferable to staying,"_ you think to yourself.

You can't help pulling Annie in for a quick kiss, regardless, before you half-yell over the noise of the party, "I'm feeling a bit stuffy, I'm heading outside to get some air."

"Okay," she nods. "I'm gonna go find the boys. Maybe see if we can head out soon." She adds the second sentence with remarkable nonchalance, but she blushes a bit and you know she's on your wavelength.

You wink at her and deadpan, "Brilliant. I'm kinda feeling tired all of a sudden."

The cool air rushes to meet you as you exit the building. You take your jacket off for a second, enjoying the crisp breeze skating over your hot skin, when you hear the door squeak open behind you. Jeff comes out and sits next to you on the front steps.

"It's a little toasty in there, isn't it?" he notes.

You narrow your eyes a tad—even seemingly innocuous comments can be loaded with implications when they come from Jeff. "Yeah. And there are just so many people."

"At least none of us turned into zombies," he jokes.

"Yeah," you smile. "Wait, what?"

He shrugs. "Dunno. Seems like something that would happen at this school around Halloween, right?"

You give an affirmative shrug in return.

"By the way, forgot to mention it earlier: nice costume." He smirks and adds, "Though don't I recall you making a pretty passionate stand _against_ being Harley Quinn for Halloween a couple of weeks ago?" His tone is only lightly teasing, though, and while there's nothing more than a friendly, platonic attraction between you two anymore, it's kind of comforting to know you'll always have your particular brand of banter.

"Watch what you say, Tina Fey," you bluster back in lieu of an actual response. You expect Jeff might needle you further for how bad you've got it for your girlfriend, for the fact that you don't even bother denying that you're whipped, but instead, he simply says, "Happy ten months. Or, well, ten-ish months, I think."

"Thanks," you answer shyly, the response emerging in a half-question; it's still a bit surreal that you've had one partner for so long, let alone one who's so good for you. It's even weirder that your former friend with benefits is the one congratulating you on your relationship, but, then again, nothing to do with Greendale, or your friend group, is ever all that normal. You clear your throat and ask, "Where's this coming from?"

"Just seeing how you and Annie behave with each other when you're a bit less guarded compared to study sessions," he answers. "You two really work well together, strange as it was to think about at first. And as one of the study group co-parents, I feel that I should stay on top of these things. Just because I don't try too hard to find romantic love doesn't prevent me from recognizing its value for others."

You grin and lean into Jeff a bit. "You _do_ care, then. So much for that emotionally unavailable yet suave persona you're always trying to cultivate.

He snorts. "Please. It's still there, I just have no reason to deploy it around you anymore. I can't afford to waste any of that charm on unavailable ladies. Gotta save it for special circumstances and special women only."

You clap him on the shoulder. "You keep telling yourself that it's only for women, Black Rider."

He stares at you. "What?"

You cock your head, smirk, and parry back, "You heard what I said. Think about it."

"About what, the fact that you're tarnishing my sterling name and reputation—not to mention Zorro's—by comparing me to that…that… _paintball poser_?" he sputters. "I'm gonna go drink more of the Dean's pumpkin poison until I forget you made such a disrespectful remark. For shame, Britta Perry." You can practically feel the indignation seeping out of Jeff's perfectly moisturized pores as you turn back to go inside, except the door swings open just then and Poison Ivy, the Inspector, and Constable Reggie emerge.

"Hey!" they chorus at you. "We're calling it a night," Troy explains.

"Perfect timing," you declare, and you all bid Jeff a good night before you turn on your heel to join your girlfriend and the boys to trek over to Troy's car.

**

New goosebumps break out on your skin as your group departs from campus. They have nothing to do with the plummeting temperatures and stinging wind and everything to do with Annie's hand creeping up from your knee to your thigh after the two of you get settled in the back of Troy's Civic.

"You know, Britta, for playing the role of villains, I don't think we raised too much hell tonight," Annie remarks casually. As she does, she presses her nails into the exposed skin beneath the rips in your jeans and squeezes. You barely bite back an unholy moan that's half pleasure, half pain, but fortunately, neither of the boys notice, and Abed replies to Annie, "You probably did in another timeline."

You stare pointedly ahead and respond, "There's still a couple of hours left in this timeline's Halloween. Plenty of time for mischief."

You don't dare turn your head to look at Annie, but you know she's smirking.

" _Well, if you're whipped, at least you know she is, too,"_ you reason with yourself. And the alternatives to not dating Annie are all straight out of the bad timelines (Abed's regaled you all with the rich depths of his multi-verse theories once or twice or five times).

As the pseudo-adult (by age, if not always by maturity), and to keep Annie's smirk from growing any wider, you manage to restrain yourself from jumping her immediately upon retiring to her room.

"Good Halloween, then, Ivy?" you ask, since you're still in costume and you know Annie is happy you're playing along with her.

"Definitely," she grins. "I think it still has the potential to be great, though."

"I'd agree with that. I'm gonna go get all this off, kay?" You gesture at your face.

Annie nods. "Sure, I'll be here." She'd washed up almost as soon as you all had gotten back to the apartment, and you need to follow suit; your makeup's clumping like canned cake frosting that sat out too long at a kid's birthday party.

After you've de-clowned yourself, you're about to go back into Annie's room when you notice she's pulled the door fully shut.

"You ok, babe?" you ask.

"Yeah," she answers hurriedly. "Could you wait there a sec, Britta?"

"Sure, what is it?" you ask.

"I remembered there was another part of my costume I meant to show you, I just had to get it," Annie calls through the door.

You frown. "Ok. So you have it now?"

"Yeah. Come on in."

You follow her directions, open the door, walk in, and, thankfully, remember to close it before you totally freeze.

Annie's curled up on her bed, with her legs tucked under her, clad in a dark green push-up bra and matching lace panties. And what you'd assumed were dark emerald tights under her Poison Ivy dress turn out to actually be thigh-high stockings.

She shoots you one of her coy, unassuming smiles, as if she wasn't already striking enough, and simply says, "Happy Halloween, love."

You toss off your jacket and hop out of your boots as quickly as possible before almost literally hopping into bed with Annie. You're still totally confident in your bisexuality, but more and more, these days, you wonder just how the fuck any man could possibly compete with your girlfriend. Not that you have any reason to look, especially not right now when your tongue is down her throat and you're grabbing her big, firm, beautiful tits and she's unbuttoning and yanking your jeans off already and helping you pull your top over your head. Even if you didn't go to Annie's level of preparation, at least you had the sense to wear one of your slightly sexier matching sets of black underwear.

As Annie brings her hands back to caress you, she rakes her nails down your thighs again, a little call back to her provocation in Troy's car, and you gasp into her mouth.

" _Two can play at that game,"_ you decide. You pull back from your hungry makeout session and move your mouth to Annie's ear to whisper, "Trick or treat?"

She giggles. "Gimme a few minutes to think about it?"

You're more than happy to oblige, so you both lay on your sides and keep making out for a bit longer before she pauses and says, "Ok. Since I think this whole night is going to be a treat…" she grins. "I choose trick."

"Dammit," you mutter, running your hand through your hair, racking your brain for an idea. "I assumed you'd just pick treat."

Annie giggles again, and the juxtaposition between that pure, clear, innocent sound and the delectable sight of her decked out in devilishly sexy lingerie makes you laugh, too. "Oh, c'mon," she drawls. "I'm _sure_ you can think of something, Britts." She smirks. "Or maybe not. I've heard I've got quite the talent for making you lose your mind."

"Someone's pleased with herself," you murmur, even as you pull her close for another kiss.

Then again, she has every right to be. She's the _only_ one who can ever get away with calling you Britts.

(Annie Edison's the only one who can get away with a lot of other things with you, too.)

You run your nails along the back of her thighs in a slant rhyme of how she's teased you a couple of times during the night before bringing your hands up to cup her ass. Suddenly, you know exactly the trick you're going to deliver for her.

You spank Annie and she gives a delicious shiver in your arms.

"How's that for a trick?" you ask, a little shyly. Exploring new activities with Annie, sexual or otherwise, always sparks up a thrill in your bones.

"Mmm…I think I like it." She licks her lips and shoots you her best impish smile. "Could we do a little more research, please?"

You snort at her euphemism but spank her again anyway, harder this time. Annie gasps and her eyes are swimming, totally unfocused for a second after she opens them, and she whispers, _"Fuck_ , Britta," in a rough, guttural tone.

"Ok, I definitely like it," she murmurs into your mouth as your kisses escalate and you concede, with a sinful smile, "Me, too." Annie gasps again as you glide your nails closer to her inner thighs. You're pressing yourself flush against her, cascading kisses down her neck to her shoulder to her chest as you let your right hand just rest against her ass for a second, thrilling at how she wiggles against it, at the desperate need in her voice when she hisses, "More," into your ear.

You feel like Annie's enjoying what started out as a trick just a little too much and you're half-drunk on the power you've got over her in this moment, so you move your free left hand up to catch at the back of her neck and get lost in her eyes for a second before you pull her lower lip down with your thumb and shake your hand. "Nope. Ask nicely, babe."

She surges forward for a quick kiss, then begs against your lips, "Pl-please spank me harder, Britta. Make it sting a little." You fulfill her request immediately. A moan edges its way out around her gritted teeth; the two of you try to stay quiet when you're up to no good here, out of respect for the boys when they're also home, but it's always a challenge.

You cock your head to the side. "Is spanking you turning into a new treat, rather than a trick, darling?" you ask softly as you unclasp her bra and take it off. Raw desire and warm tenderness roll in and out between the two of you like high tides whenever you're in bed together and the combination tastes divine, unlike anything you've ever had before with a partner.

"Yes. Holy shit, _yes_ ," Annie breathes back, nodding even as she kisses you fiercely, and you nod, too, eager to confirm your enjoyment for her. You love the feeling of her ass jiggling against your hand after you smack it, of seeing the angry red overlapping marks on her soft skin, of how she scrabbles toward you, clutching tight to your shoulder with one hand when you run your fingers along her hip, up and down the backs of her thighs, building up the anticipation. Most of all, though, you revel in the obscene sight of Annie shoving two knuckles into her mouth and biting down on them to avoid crying out too loudly in pleasure when you give her one final, rough spank.

You're not sure whose breathing has gotten more unsteady during your fun little game, but you definitely gasp when Annie guides you into a deliciously dirty French kiss and only stops it to gaze at you dramatically and utter, "Trick or treat?"

"Trick. Definitely trick," you answer reflexively.

Your kisses turn slow and lazy for a beat after you gave your response. You can practically feel the wheels turning in Annie's head as you're making out before she scooches the tiniest bit away from you and nods, signaling that she's arrived at a decision.

"Ok, do you remember when we played DnD?" she asks. "And I did that whole bit as Hector the Well-Endowed?"

"I swear, if you ask me to be your elf maiden…" you start, but Annie laughs and cuts you off with a kiss; it's the only way you like being interrupted.

"No, nothing like that," she responds with a shake of her head. "I was more thinking…I, like, highly enjoyed talking out the sex stuff."

"Really? I didn't notice at the time," you deadpan. "Or any of the times you've done it for me since then."

"Oh, shut it," she pouts. "As if you don't love it when I talk dirty." She continues, "I don't know if this counts as a trick, exactly. But I'd love to hear you discuss any fantasies you've had about me?" she asks hopefully. "And then I can do the same for you," she adds.

You weren't sure what you expected her to pull out for a trick, but this has captured your attention. "What kind of fantasies?"

Annie frowns in concentration, clearly mulling over the options. "How about the first time you fantasized about kissing me?"

You respond, "Sure," and then your brain jumps a step further. "How about that _and_ the first time I fantasized about you to get myself off?"

Annie's eager kiss tells you everything you need to know about her thoughts on that idea. "The floor…er, the bed, is yours, milady," she says, and you snort, but you genuinely love how foreplay and sex with her can be silly, fun, playful, and goofy just as often as it's sexy and steamy.

She rests her chin on your shoulder and you rake your fingers through her hair, kissing her automatically as you flip your mental calendar back to last fall.

"Alright. Um, to me, there's a difference between thinking about something and fantasizing about it," you begin, unsure if this is exactly what Annie had in mind, but she nods encouragingly.

"So the first time I fantasized about kissing you…" you bite your lower lip as you conjure up the memory. "Was when we went to the Dairy Queen after doing that car-smashing fundraiser last September. Remember when you were freezing and I gave you my jacket?"

"Yeah."

"Well, I kind of saw you in a different light in that moment," you admit. "Since you were wearing a way more casual outfit than your normal cardigan and dress combo. And then I thought to myself, yeah, Annie's cute today, but she's always pretty, even when she's dressed like a Stepford wife."

"Aww, babe," Annie murmurs, nuzzling your nose with hers, and you'd be revolted if you didn't secretly love how sweet she can be.

"And when you wiped the ice cream away from the corner of my mouth, my brain just went full rom-com mode." You blow out a breath you didn't know you were holding. "I had some really specific thoughts about Frenching you and swiping a bite of ice cream right out of your mouth with my tongue."

"Show me," she commands with that sensual layer in her voice, and you're powerless to do anything but melt into a filthy kiss with her until the thoughts of talking about how you'd first masturbated to her have almost vanished. That is, until Annie whispers, in that deep, throaty voice that always wrecks you, "Tell me. Tell me what it was like the first time you came when I was all you could think about."

She could order you to kill someone in that tone and you wouldn't question it. Hell, you'd start looking for a gun.

"You know…" you dip your head closer to her, bite her neck, and nibble her earlobe before murmuring, "I'd be more than happy to act out _exactly_ what I was doing the first time I fantasized about you in bed _while_ I tell you about it, Annie."

Her smile might cleave her face in half. "Ooh, I get a show, too? You spoil me."

You grin right back at her. "You're worth it."

**

To set the scene, you start by telling her, "It was the night of our first kiss, because you're a phenomenal kisser, I'd wanted to kiss you for a while, and I sometimes lack impulse control."

Annie hums appreciatively and you close your eyes, reminiscing on the electricity of that night, of your first kiss with Annie. The way you'd dug through your CDs in your car to find The Shade of Poison Trees as you drove home and skipped to The Rush just so you could shout along to the lyrics, _"And I'll know I'm alive,"_ as you replayed the way you'd leaned in together.

"And I…" your breath hitches when Annie starts rubbing lazy circles around the crotch of your panties while kissing your neck.

"Keep going," she murmurs, as if she's not your favorite distraction.

"Every time I closed my eyes in bed, it was like I was back on your couch and you were on top of me," you whisper. "I could still feel your lip gloss on me, could still taste it. At first, I only imagined your lips ghosting over mine and replayed the way you bit my lower lip," you continue as Annie adjusts herself to grind her thigh against you and leave bites on your shoulder blades. "But then I started thinking about what might've happened if we hadn't stopped." You find her jaw with your hand and direct her gaze up to you. "How bold would you have gotten that night, Annie?"

Her pupils dilate like ink blots fallen from the tip of a ballpoint pen, and the sight makes you question if anyone else has _ever_ yearned for you as badly as she does. " _So_ bold," she answers. Even though her voice is low, even though you're replaying the past, there's vehemence, a certainty to it, that makes you fall even harder for her. "God, I wanted you for _ages_ , Britta," Annie breathes.

You gulp for air and give a shaky nod; you've replaced her touches with your own, sliding one hand down your underwear. "I guessed at that, that night," you tell her. "I tried to think what else you might do to me. Figured you'd at least play with my tits." You squeeze your left nipple til it hardens and Annie sucks and bites on your right for a perfect match; she's not afraid to use her teeth and you appreciate it. "I thought you'd keep grinding against me, too," you add; you start rubbing your clit in quicker circles and your moan would be noisier except Annie's swallowed it in an open-mouthed kiss.

"Tell me more," she whispers, and you thrill at her request.

"I remember wanting to build up to my orgasm slowly. Revel in it like we'd done with our kisses," you murmur as Annie catches your tongue between her teeth before sucking it into her mouth in a perversely tender move that somehow makes you even hornier than you were ten seconds ago. "But then," you whisper hoarsely, "I moaned your name. To see what it felt like in my mouth, on my tongue, coming off my lips. To see what it sounded like."

"What happened?" Annie demands.

"It all broke me," you pant. "I just…" you yank your panties to the side, totally devoid of ceremony, just how you had that first time you masturbated to her. You start fingering yourself quicker before you breathe out, "I couldn't stop myself from repeating your name over and over again. Couldn't stop myself from rubbing my clit faster. It was like I just _had to_ cum for you, with your name on my lips." And as you start playing with yourself with total abandon, you whimper, _"Annie._ Just like that. Like I've done so many times since then."

She kisses you hard and groans, "God, hearing you moan my name that way always kills me."

"I started off whispering it softly," you tell her—you're already close and Annie's starting to touch herself, too, but she hasn't broken eye contact with you and you think, no, you know, sharing this last part of your fantasy with her will send you careening over the edge—"but then I got louder and louder, and just when I was about to cum," you confess, "I fucking screamed out your name."

Annie nearly growls, _"Yes_ ," and her total approval hits you like lightning and you gasp, still frantically touching yourself, "Oh, fuck, I'm right there, I'm so _close_."

She hisses back, "Cum for me, Britta," and you moan, _"Annie,"_ flinging her name into the universe like a prayer as your orgasm rips through you, shuddering violently in her arms while you ride out the aftershocks.

"You're so fucking beautiful when you orgasm," she murmurs as she presses her lips to your forehead. "I love getting to watch."

"Same goes for you," you whisper drowsily, willing yourself to stay awake for Annie's part of her chosen trick. You snuggle up to her and say, "Your turn for story time."

"Well, I think you can guess my first kiss fantasy," she answers warmly.

"During my Valentine's Day disaster with Paige?" you suggest. "No, wait, when Jeff said we could all think about boning each other because we're not a regular family?"

Annie blushes, laughs, and nods, and you'll never get over the funny little things that make her tick.

"Truthfully, I was trying to not look at anyone when he suggested that," she admits, biting her lower lip. "I felt the whole concept was weird and a bit juvenile, and I was interested in Vaughn at the time, and…"

You can't help but crack up at that reference. "Vaughn Miller. Now there's a name I haven't heard in a while. Thank fuck you didn't go to Delaware with him." She rolls her eyes at you affectionately and you pipe down. "Sorry, babe. Continue."

"Anyway," she goes on, "I figured I could just wait for Pierce to say something racist or sexist, or for Abed to make a connection to a movie, and I wouldn't have to participate in that strange little experiment. But then I felt someone's eyes on me. I figured Jeff was watching me, but it was you."

"Full disclosure, I wasn't trying to be a perv," you interrupt.

"No, I knew, I could tell. Your gaze felt…curious," she remarks. "My mind just kind of ran to this image of the two of us at your apartment on a weekend night, watching some trashy TV, and the feel of your jacket under my hands when we kissed. And I imagined you'd probably taste like either bourbon or tequila."

You grin. "Sounds about right. I'm surprised you didn't freak out more at the time, honestly."

"Between the years of sexual repression, compulsory heterosexuality, and internalized homophobia, I got really good at denying any potential evidence that I was into girls." She tries to shrug all that off, but it doesn't quite work.

You intertwine your fingers with hers and kiss her hard. "I don't think I say this enough, but I'm so damn proud of you for overcoming all that bullshit to find peace with who you are," you murmur as you play with her hair. "Not that your sexual identity should comprise, like, _everything_ you are as a person, because you have so much more to offer the world, but—"

Annie smoothly cuts off your rambling train of thought with a kiss that says she knows all the good things you want to convey to her.

"Thank you," Annie tells you. "You've really helped me become more confident and comfortable with myself, Britta." She shoots you a devilish grin. "Especially in bed."

"It's been my absolute pleasure, babe," you answer. "Every bit. Now, about your other fantasy…" you bat your eyelashes at Annie and ask, "When was it?"

"After our third date, when we saw Toy Story 3 at the Riviera," she answers, her nose scrunching up (quite adorably, you might add) as she tries to recall the details. "I remember wondering why you skipped a couple songs on your mixtape when you were driving me home. But when Hands Down came on, I knew you wanted us to make out with it playing in the background before you dropped me off."

"Guilty as charged," you concede with a laugh.

"Then, like, five minutes after you left, I felt like an idiot because I should've invited you in," Annie continues. "I think because I realized we had something good going for us. That made me really want…more, from a physical standpoint."

"So what did you do about it?" you purr, eager to hear her response.

Annie slowly closes her eyes, clearly reaching back for memories the way you did earlier, and the smile on her face can only be described as blissed out. "I started replaying all our kisses to that point in my head and stripped off my dress. And when I looked in the mirror, I…" her breath catches for a second, and she clears her throat. "I think I caught a glimpse of myself the way you do, the way you look at me." She sits up to follow her own narrative, almost resurrecting the past as she gazes in the mirror now, and there's a steely, seductive, white-hot confidence in her eyes that you know she didn't always possess. "Like I'm desirable. Sensual. Something to crave."

Even though you're the one who took dance lessons, Annie's movements enchant you in this setting, especially in the mirror's reflection. You watch her hands skirt smoothly down her sides, under her ribcage, to her hips, and you revel in the feel of goosebumps rising up on her skin as you lift her hair off the nape of her neck and kiss her tenderly there.

"Were you playing with yourself in front of your mirror?" you ask, hoping fervently that the answer is yes, because you've found a new game here, almost halfway between two realities, your vision split between gazing directly at Annie and training your eyes on the glass as she starts touching herself again.

She doesn't answer your question right away, but guides your hand down to her clit instead. You start rubbing it in a circle, both of your eyes locked on your reflections.

"Yes," she moans softly. "In some light, some angles, my eye-color reminded me of yours, and I pretended you were here, watching me," she pants as she covers your hand with her own, mirroring your movements.

"That's so fucking hot, Annie," you breathe just before you suck on her neck and shift yourself to hold her back and support her so she can keep sitting up on her knees. You hear a keening note rise up from the back of her throat as she teases herself; she's on cloud nine and you'll do everything in your power to keep her there.

"Thinking that way made me wanna put on a show for you," she admits, and your sex drive spikes back up at the thought of Annie being something of a voyeur. "I turned into an animal and…" she pumps two fingers into herself ruthlessly and you gasp, but you've felt how wet she is and the groan she tries and fails to restrain is all pleasure.

" _Sex isn't everything in a relationship,"_ your one functioning brain cell notes, _"but you've hit the jackpot with Annie in that department."_ She rocks forward a bit, her hair falling around her like a veil as she keeps eye-fucking you in the mirror, as if she can read your mind (honestly, you wouldn't be surprised).

She moans as you match her ferocity with her own by biting her nipples, and you're past caring that you're making a little too much noise when you get to watch Annie Edison masturbating like the promise of her next orgasm is the only thing keeping her tethered to the world. "I just…I _needed_ to cum for you, Britta."

"I think you need to cum for me right now, too, babe," you breathe against her skin, rubbing her clit faster to match her intensity. You swipe your tongue across her neck before biting at the corner of her mouth, and Annie babbles, "Fuck yes I do, yes, yes, _yes,"_ before she completely loses control and falls forward, catching herself on all fours, panting her way through the end of her orgasm as you flop backwards onto your pillow.

You're not sure, exactly, what gets you to do it. You can't quite pinpoint whether it's your newfound appreciation for Annie's ass (not that you didn't appreciate it before, but after spanking her earlier, _damn)_ , or your admiration for the beautifully stark color contrast between her creamy thighs and the dark, rich green of her stockings, or your unexpected uptick in horniness manifesting itself in a desire to give rather than receive.

It's probably some collision point between all three, you guess, that convinces you to sit up as if you're doing a crunch as part of your morning workout routine. Except you've never gotten to grab Annie's hips and steer her back towards you as a reward before.

"Britta, what are you doing?" she laughs.

You're normally big on conversations in all aspects of your relationship, but sometimes, showing works better than telling. So you swing Annie's right leg over your chest so there's one to either side of your torso. In case she still hasn't gotten the hint, you lift your head up again and press a pair of soft, tentative kisses to her inner thighs—one on each—just above where her stockings end.

" _Oh,"_ she breathes. She turns back to look at you and you expect you'll need to adjust positions because face-sitting isn't usually her favorite, but instead, she gives you a mischievous grin, scoots furthers back for you, and murmurs approvingly, "Yes, please, babe."

You'll still never fully understand how Annie transformed from being more tightly wound than an antique watch to a girl-on-girl sex queen in the span of three plus years, but you'll always be thankful for it. She slowly lowers herself onto your face and you grab her hips to guide her toward your tongue.

Ever the thoughtful one, she asks, in a hushed voice, "Is this good for you? You don't need me to adjust myself at all?"

You nearly laugh since you have absolutely no way of talking at the moment, but you nod vigorously enough at her first question that she gets it. It takes you a second to get comfortable, to figure out how to best please Annie in this position, but then you've got your tongue buried all the way inside her and you can play with her clit with your teeth. You're rewarded with another high-pitched, keening moan as Annie grinds on you.

"Oh my _God_ , Britta, that's…that's… _shit_ , you're incredible," she gasps as you lift her off you for a second before rolling your tongue and easing her all the way back down on you; it makes it even easier for you to tease her clit and she moans, _"Fuck,_ that's perfect. Oh, fuck, right there, just like that. Yes, Britta." Annie's praise kink has definitely made its way to you, because her encouragement only spurs you on to suck her clit even more, until she's panting, _"Yes, Britta,"_ in a breathless repeat through her orgasm and you greedily swallow all of it.

**

"You taste so delicious, sweetheart," you breathe before you both clean up the collective mess that is now her bed and get ready to go to sleep.

"Back at you." She winks, yawns, and stretches, cat-like and catatonic. "Can I get a raincheck on giving you a second orgasm for later this weekend? My bones feel like Jello and I'm exhausted. _Someone_ wore me out."

You kiss her softly and grin into it. "You're welcome. I'm surprised you went along with round two."

"I felt like being adventurous, and you made it quite the treat," she murmurs appreciatively. "Good God, those _angles._ I didn't know you could get your tongue that deep inside me."

"Again, you're welcome," you answer with a smirk as exhaustion overwhelms you, too, and you let out a massive yawn before asking softly, "Hey, Annie?"

"Yeah?"

You shoot her a sleepy smile. "Best. Halloween. Ever."

"For sure. Think we can top it next year?" she asks back before she freezes up and backtracks a smidge. "You know, if…"

Normally, the thought of being in such a long-term relationship, of committing, even abstractly, to being with someone that far in the future, would have you jumping out of your skin with anxiety—if not the nearest escape window, too. But this is different. You _want_ a future with Annie. Like, long, long, _long_ -term. You're pretty sure she knows that, but it obviously wouldn't hurt to reassure her.

So you skate over her concern and answer, as you grab her hands in yours, "We can definitely try. But before then, I'm looking forward to spending more holidays with you, hon." She brightens up at that and you'll never get tired of pleasing her. "Thanksgiving, even if it's celebrating genocide," you mutter. "And Hanukkah. And Christmas. And our study group's non-denominational winter holiday. This year, and the next, and the one after that, and so on and so forth."

"Aww, babe," she replies softly. "Me, too. Plus all the days in between."

"Definitely," you agree, sealing it with a kiss.

Even before you both whisper, "Love you, good night," to each other, you know that, yes, this is love.


End file.
